Arrival
by illuminata79
Summary: A great change is about to happen in Mick and Evelyn's life.


Mick and Evelyn's long wait for their child's arrival is coming to an end.

I chose this song because it expresses just how strongly Mick feels about his little lady (or is it a little gentleman after all?)

_The Avett Brothers: A Father's First Spring_

_Sweetest surrender of winter  
She put up a flag, it is waving  
The thunder of summer is rumbling in  
And I haven't seen you in days_

_And, my, how that feeling has changed  
Oh, I have been homesick for you since we met  
I have been homesick for you_

_I've got to take to the sky  
And I'll tell you what that means for you and I  
If I die it's for you  
If I die it's for you_

_I never lived 'til I lived in your light  
My heart never beat like it does at the sight  
Of you baby blue, God blessed your life  
I do not live 'less I live in your light  
I do not live 'less I live in your light_

_The realest thing I ever felt  
Was the blood on the floor and the love in your yell  
I was a child before  
The day that I met Eleanor_

_The kiss of the wind in the hills  
The clearness of morning, the late evening thrill  
Blurry and grey like the roar  
The wheels of the highway, above them I soar_

_When I'm in the sweet daughter's eye  
My heart is now ruined for the rest of all time  
There's no part of it left to give  
There's no part of it left to give_

_I never lived 'til I lived in your light  
My heart never beat like it does at the sight  
Of you baby blue, God blessed your life  
I do not live 'less I live in your light  
I do not live 'less I live in your light  
I do not live_

* * *

Hilda wrapped her hands around the hot mug and inhaled the scent of the freshly brewed Darjeeling, glad to rest her old bones from a day that had begun at half past four in the night.

Putting up her feet and enjoying a cup of tea in all peace and quiet was her favourite part of the day, a beloved little ritual she got cheated of only too often, for babies of course didn't have fixed schedules. They came whenever they wanted, in broad daylight or in the middle of a cold dark night, and they tended to announce themselves gleefully the very moment an aging midwife was pouring hot water into a teapot at the end of a strenuous workday.

She took the first sip of the scalding liquid and reached for the magazine and the well-sharpened pencil on the side table. Nothing like a cuppa and a good clever crossword for unwinding in the evening.

When the telephone rang in the hallway, she was absent-mindedly chewing the end of the pencil, trying hard to figure out four across. Her tired mind wasn't quite as quick as usual, which angered her no end.

The shrill noise in the background grated on her nerves without her realizing what it actually was at first.

But it kept ringing persistently, and she finally threw the magazine and pencil aside with a grunt, shuffled into the hallway in her furry slippers and picked up the receiver with a curt, "Hello?"

"Mrs. Wentworth? Evelyn Spence speaking."

Ah, the smart little redhead over in Blakehurst, the one who'd made headlines right after the war with a book about some unsavoury subject, naked savages and their mating habits or something like that. Rumour also had it she was not married to the man who was the father of her child, but although Hilda certainly didn't approve of such disorderly affairs, she would keep her mouth shut about it. Her job was to deliver babies, not to judge their parents' mores.

There was the typical pause on the line, some audible laboured breathing, then the words Hilda must have heard a thousand times before, uttered with forced composure, sheer distress and any imaginable nuance of emotion in between.

Evelyn sounded quite calm when she said, "The baby's coming."

Hilda did not sigh or roll her eyes. She was too much of a professional to let her annoyance show, and besides, she did love her job. Most of the time.

She established the frequency of the contractions, gave the usual instructions and said she'd be there as quickly as she could before she hung up.

Resignedly, she kissed her quiet evening goodbye and slipped on her blue dress and a fresh white apron, tied the laces of her sensible black shoes, took a few large swigs of the fine Darjeeling she'd have hated to see wasted, grabbed her coat and bag and was on her way in less than ten minutes.

A man opened the door when she rang the bell of the pleasant one-storey brick house near the sea, wearing what looked like a striped pajama top over rumpled khakis. He was a few years older than his wife, she guessed, and of that darkly attractive type, quite handsome despite his unshaven face, tired eyes and sloppy getup.

Like all of them, he had this typical helplessly worried expression, and he appeared immensely relieved that assistance had arrived.

Like all of them, he'd surely be only too ready to leave the field to this much more competent person who would know how to deal with his wife's agony, gladly allowing her to banish him from the room until it was all over and she would summon him back to present him his new offspring.

Almost wordlessly, he showed her down the corridor. She had not noticed it immediately, but as he was leading the way, she saw that he was using a cane as he walked. Judging from his characteristic limp, she was pretty sure he had an artificial leg.

That bloody war, she thought, pursing her lips in distaste.

He walked through an open door at the end of the hallway, Hilda following suit.

Her patient was in the bedroom, holding on to the back of a wicker chair, bent over, breathing hard, looking up at her from under the copper curls that had tumbled over her forehead. She was too consumed by the contractions to reply to the midwife's greeting, but she acknowledged her with a tiny nod.

Hilda busily set about spreading a plastic sheet on the bed and laying out the instruments she might need, while the mother-to-be remained where she was. She was obviously trying to maintain a grip on herself like first-timers often did, only allowing herself the occasional soft moan although it was plain to see she was hard pressed to keep from crying out.

She'd be past all that decorum before long, Hilda knew from experience. Very soon, she would reach a stage when she didn't give a damn about dignity and composure any more. When the pains became too overwhelming, she would be groaning and panting and screaming just like all the others.

When she was done with her preparations, Hilda turned round and almost jumped when the tall figure of the husband came into view behind her. She had totally forgotten about him, presuming he had silently vanished from the room as soon as he could to leave the women to the messy business of bringing his baby into the world.

But there he was, at his wife's side, rubbing her back, stroking her hair as she leaned her head against his shoulder to catch her breath between contractions and whimpered something Hilda didn't catch, murmuring reassuring words so softly that only Evelyn could understand.

Hilda idly wondered how long he was planning to stay on when Evelyn suddenly gritted her teeth and gave a heartfelt, drawn-out groan. "Ahhh … that … bloody … _hurts!" _

From the look of her, Hilda was sure the baby was not going to wait much longer.

"I think it's time for you to lie down." She went over and touched the younger woman's arm. "Come on, love, lie on the bed. Make yourself comfortable. Not long now. Do you want someone to be with you? Shall we ask your husband to call your mother or your sister, maybe? Or a friend? A _female_ friend", she added, looking askance at the father who still made no move to leave.

Evelyn shook her head quite vehemently but let Hilda help her lower herself on the bed.

"As you wish. It'll be just the two of us, then."

"Three."

Hilda, who had been about to hitch up Evelyn's dress to examine her and check the baby's position, automatically replied, "Yes, three, eventually." When the fact sank in that it had been a male voice she'd heard, she gave the speaker another sideways glance and sighed ostentatiously. He couldn't possibly _still _be there!

"What do you think you're doing here?" she asked quite harshly. "You don't want to stick around for the _birth, _do you?"

The man actually had the nerve to say yes.

Hilda was truly horrified at the thought and couldn't find a word to say for a minute or two.

She had thought she had seen it all in her forty years as a midwife, but apparently, she had been mistaken.

Had one ever heard of such an unnatural thing, fathers being present at the birth of their children?

All that was required of a father at this crucial point was to wait and fret and be patient. Let him get drunk if he thought it helped (as many of them did), but there was absolutely no way of having him in the bedroom to see things he was not supposed to see. He'd only be underfoot, or, much worse, get sick or even pass out.

She pulled herself together and finally said, "Are you _serious_, Mr. Spence?"

He flinched slightly and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then decided otherwise.

"This is not a place for a man now!" Hilda went on with some determination. "Your wife's in good hands with me, Mr. Spence, and …"

"First of all, missus", he interrupted in a husky voice, "the name's Carpenter."

So it was true they were not married. No wonder he was having odd ideas about other things, too.

"Second, I have no doubt you're very good at what you do."

Hilda accepted the compliment without batting an eyelid, arms akimbo, impatiently waiting for him to continue.

"And finally … you know, I've seen more blood and carnage than I ever cared to see … I've seen boys of nineteen butchered in senseless battles, and … oh well, never mind." He shook his head and swallowed hard, his face very grave, tilted his head slightly to one side and gave her a penetrating stare from disturbingly green eyes. "So, missus, don't you think I should be able to cope with seeing my own child being born?"

He kept his eyes trained on her, unyielding, and she relented grumpily.

"Fine, Mr. … Carpenter, do stay if you won't have it any other way, but do me a favour and sit over here. Don't move unless I say so. And don't _look._ I won't be able to pick you up off the floor if you faint on me."

He gave a little derisive snort but obediently pulled up the wicker chair and sat by the bedside, kissing Evelyn's flushed cheek as he reached for her hand. "We're in this together, my love", he told her.

"Oh yes, we are." She smiled wanly. "After all, you were present when she got in there, so it's only fair if you stay with me until she comes out."

A lovely, amused smile spread across his anxious face.

For a moment, Hilda felt like an unwanted intruder, at the same time thinking he didn't have any concept of what he was in for.

The next contraction made the young woman cry out loudly and clutch the man's large hand, and Hilda went all professional again, taking an expert look at the state of things, announcing that the cervix was well dilated and she had already caught the first fleeting glimpse of the baby's head before it slipped away again.

"No, don't push just yet", she cautioned. "Wait until I say so."

Evelyn growled through clenched teeth, frustrated and pained.

A fierce little tigress in a trap was what came to Hilda's mind. She said calmly and not without compassion, "Yes, I know you want to. I know it's hard. But it's not time for that quite yet."

"But I … _aaaarghhhh_ …"

"Easy, love. Breathe. Breathe through the pain. It'll be over soon, and then … then we'll finally get to see our little lady."

Hilda was surprised how well the father was handling it. Not only wasn't he underfoot at all, but he seemed to do the mother a world of good, calming her down, exuding a quiet, reassuring confidence, encouraging her, gently attending to her needs.

He had moved his chair as close to the bedside as he could and now offered both his hands to the tortured young woman, who clung to them for dear life as wave after wave of pain ripped through her body.

Things had slowed down; the birth was not proceeding as quickly as Hilda had thought it would.

No reason for concern yet, but she kept a wary eye on the clock as she repeatedly checked the stage of dilation while she tried to avoid any display of anxiety, and when she answered the father's occasional questions calmly, it was a calm she did not feel.

His watchful eyes made her nervous, but she didn't have the heart to turn him out at this point.

Nothing happened for two long hours, nothing but writhing and crying and howling and some very rude curses Hilda would not have expected from the mouth of such an educated woman.

Carpenter appeared surprised, too, and stated in a feeble attempt at humour, "And I thought I'd heard all the worst curses on earth when I was a sailor."

"You certainly never … had a woman in … goddamn fucking labour … on any of your _goddamn fucking ships!"_ she yelled at him, panting heavily between words.

"Touché", he replied with a quivering smile and pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of her eyes with a gentle hand before he turned away, racked by a nasty coughing attack.

Hilda glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Two and a half hours without any progress.

She began wondering whether she ought to call the doctor and send the husband, or whatever he was, out of the room after all.

Before she could make up her mind, Evelyn screamed and arched her back, apparently in worse pain than ever, shaking uncontrollably as the contraction passed and she fell back on the bed.

Carpenter blanched, eyes wide with shock.

Hilda examined her once again and muttered contentedly, "Well, well. What did you call her earlier … there's a little lady getting ready to come out. If it is a little lady at all."

She watched her patient closely during the next couple of contractions and, when the crown of the baby's head appeared, patted Evelyn's knee and said, "Now I want you to give me a nice big push. Yes, that's fine. That's _good._ And another … yes, that's great … that's it. That's it! That's the head! And one more, just one …"

Evelyn cried out loudly as she pushed with all her might.

The ensuing silence was deafening.

All three of them remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, paralyzed with fear something was terribly wrong.

But in fact it wasn't more than a few seconds until the little red-faced, blood-smeared, perfectly beautiful creature opened her mouth and made her arrival known to the world in a strong, angry voice.

"It's a girl", Hilda said and smiled while she proceeded to cut the cord.

"Of course it is", said the proud father almost scornfully.

He leaned over and stroked the baby's cheek with a careful forefinger, not bothered in the least that she was still streaked with blood and quite wet, laughing happily as he said to her, "Didn't I know it all along you were a girl – a pretty little lady?"

* * *

The moment my fingertip touched her face was the moment it became breathtakingly real to me that I was in fact a father now.

Not just a father-to-be, with my baby still an unfulfilled promise, a mere possibility - faceless, shapeless, nameless and quite unimaginable to me despite the palpable kicks she gave me from inside her mother's growing womb.

Now there was this new human being, so small and yet so perfect – a beautiful little girl who had just made me a father, something I had stopped hoping for a very long time ago.

I watched eagerly as the midwife dried her off with gentle expert hands and wrapped her in a clean towel before she placed her in her mother's arms.

Evelyn held her in silent awe, beaming brightly at the little pink face.

I knew for sure that there were thousands of babies born every day all over the world, as it had been for centuries and centuries, but that didn't change anything about the fact that this was a small miracle nevertheless.

I leaned forward and traced the tiny shell of her ear with a finger that looked so huge and rough by comparison.

"Do you want to hold her?" Evelyn asked.

I nodded, still quite speechless.

"Great idea", the midwife, whose presence I had all but forgotten, chimed in. "We've got a few things to take care of in the meantime. Would you be so good to leave us alone for a moment?"

I hesitated, and she said, "Oh well, you won't go anyway for all I know. Sit over there, will you, and don't you _look!"_

Obediently, I went to sit on the overstuffed ottoman by the window, ignoring my protesting leg, and half turned my back on the room.

A shiver ran through me when the midwife placed the little bundle in my arms. She was so light that I barely felt her weight, and, with her head nestled into the crook of my arm, hardly longer than my forearm. And yet she was so … so _complete, _with her intricate fingers no thicker than matchsticks and her rosebud mouth and that endearing tiny snub nose.

I wanted to cuddle her to bits and at the same time worried she'd be harmed by the slightest mistake I might make.

I wanted to kiss her sweet little face, but I hadn't shaved for almost a week and feared my coarse stubble would hurt her smooth plump cheek, so I just brushed it very tenderly with the tip of my nose, inhaling the unique scent of her skin.

"Oh, I love you, little lady", I told her. "I love you so much."

For some odd, superstitious reason, we had never called her by the name we had chosen before she was born. She had always been "the little lady" or "Princess" or simply "Baby".

I still couldn't quite grasp that Evelyn had just given birth to a brand new person, and when I was about to address my little girl, her full name, Anne Margaret, seemed way too big for such a delicate creature.

I had always been fond of the name Anne for no particular reason, and Evelyn had quickly agreed when I suggested it because the books she had loved most as a young girl had featured an enterprising, clever, imaginative redhead called Anne.

Margaret for a middle name had been Evelyn's choice. I had not cared too much for it at first, but she had insisted because it was derived from the Hebrew word for "pearl". I could not possibly object to that, she had said, and I hadn't.

I had come to like the sound of _Anne Margaret Carpenter_ more and more as we discussed possible names - it would be a good name for a schoolgirl as well as for a grown-up woman – and we had agreed we would not use any silly nicknames for her, but I couldn't help myself when I looked down on her peaceful sleeping face and felt I was about to burst with love.

"Annie", I whispered. "Annie, my lovely little lady."

Was that a smile or just an involuntary twitch of her mouth?

With an overflowing heart, I ventured to place a cautious kiss on her forehead after all.

I had no idea how much time had passed when the midwife allowed me back. I hadn't heard nor seen anything of whatever the two women had done in the meantime. There had been just the two of us in the world for a while. Annie and me.

Apparently, the midwife had tidied up, changed the sheets and helped Evelyn put on a fresh pale green nightgown before she packed up her things, took a last look at the baby and said goodbye, not without promising to come back the next day to check on us.

"Can I have her back?" Evelyn asked, somewhat amused, when Mrs. Wentworth had left.

"If you must."

I handed Annie back to her, who blinked at her for a moment with her big blue eyes and yawned, and suddenly became aware of how tired I was myself. It must be way after midnight.

Without taking my eyes off my girls, I got changed and settled into bed next to them, snuggled against Evelyn's side and studied Annie's face in the golden light of the bedside lamp.

The little one started crying not much later. While I was still wondering what was wrong, Evelyn quickly unbuttoned the front of her gown and carefully brought Annie into the proper position for the first meal in her life.

She seemed a little perplexed and kept mewling for a moment until her mouth found what it was searching for and closed around the nipple.

I pushed myself up on one elbow and simply watched them with a rapid surge of deep affection and loving pride and the fierce urge to protect and defend them with my life if need be.

The intensity of my emotions almost scared me, but I couldn't help it. Did other fathers have this violent notion of responsibility, too? Was it normal to feel you were ready to kill anyone who did as much as touch a hair on your beloveds' heads, to lay down your own life without hesitation if it meant saving theirs?

"I love you", I whispered in a choked voice and kissed Evelyn's cheek while my hand came to rest on Annie's back. "My beautiful ladies."

* * *

I awoke in the hazy light of a grey April afternoon to the low murmur of a familiar dark voice. For the first time since Annie's arrival three days ago, I was feeling stronger and well rested.

The delivery had exhausted me more than I would have thought, and her first days on earth had whizzed past me in an indistinct blur of sleeping with and without her in my arm, of feeding and cuddling her, and of course Mick and I had spent a lot of time simply admiring her chubby arms and legs and her cute little nose and her perfect minuscule ears and those blue, blue eyes she hardly ever opened for long.

She was a veritable beginner's baby – she slept a lot and only cried when she was wet or hungry. As soon as she had been fed or changed, she dozed off again peacefully in my arm or in her crib, or, what she seemed to love the most, on her daddy's chest, safe and snug in his arms, his big hand carefully cradling her little head.

Mick was just wonderful. Although he was barely back on his feet himself, he had taken care of everything in those last few days, had prepared meals and warded off well-meaning visitors we didn't wish to see just yet and even changed Annie's nappies so that I didn't need to do anything but rest and recover.

He was standing over Annie's crib now, talking to her in hushed tones, and he had not yet realized I was awake.

Unnoticed, I watched his expressive features, his enchanted smile, the glow in his eyes that belied the traces of his recent illness that still showed in his face and his posture, and felt a wave of happiness and gratitude, so great that it was almost painful, at the sight of my little family.

I recalled the terrible instant when I had believed the pneumonia had claimed Mick's life and the equally horrifying moment when Annie wouldn't breathe or cry for agonizing seconds after she had made her way into the world, and I felt incredibly lucky to have them both here with me, alive and well and apparently totally infatuated with each other.

He was so infinitely sweet with her, so caring and gentle, and it was plain to see that he was head over heels in love. There was no doubt in my mind that she would always be her father's little princess, and I was pretty sure he would not be amused when she brought her first boyfriend home one distant day.

To think that he had been so doubtful about having children after I had first told him I was pregnant, worrying about his disability and wondering about his aptitude for fatherhood in general.

I remembered him saying, "I'm not gonna be much use to the poor kid. Fathers are supposed to teach you to run and swim and climb trees and play all kinds of sports. I can't even _walk _properly."

"Didn't your boys learn a lot about baseball without you actually playing with them? You have such a knack for explaining stuff to people, and besides, there's a whole lot of things more meaningful than playing football with your children. You have so much else to give to them. You can talk, and listen, and read to them. You can teach them all kinds of things. And, what's most important, you can _love_ them!" I had told him emphatically and added, "As for the sports, I'm crap at ball games, but I guess I'll manage to play catch and hide-and-seek, and you know I'm not exactly bad at climbing trees."

He had laughed and wondered aloud what the neighbours might say if I went scaling the frangipanis, but he hadn't been entirely convinced.

Looking at him now, cooing to Annie as he picked her up from the crib because she had begun to fidget and niggle, my suspicion that he would prove a natural at this was more than confirmed.

"Let's take a little walk, Annie love", he said. "Would you like that? Shall we have a look at your room? Yes? That's good. Daddy wants to see if you like it."

I smiled to myself when they went off together, remembering how I had come home from work a while ago to find him up a stepladder in what used to be our spare bedroom, with a blue smear of paint across his cheek and more of it spattered all over his shirt and pants. There was even some in his hair.

I had refrained from asking what business he had climbing ladders, not wanting to seem overprotective, but he was teetering precariously up there as he completed a frieze of fat white clouds on the pale blue walls and I had both marveled at how he managed to keep his balance on the narrow steps and feared he'd take a bad fall.

Instead, I had said, "Do you think it's a boy after all?"

He had turned to me with one of his charming little chuckles. "Because I painted the room blue? That's got nothing to do with boys or girls, Evelyn. This isn't baby-boy blue." He had stuck his brush into the breast pocket of his ruined shirt and slowly, gingerly descended to the floor while he went on, "This is ocean blue, and sky blue, and forget-me-not blue – you name it. You know, I want her to love the sea and the skies and nature and freedom. I want her to lie in her little bed and look up at the wall and imagine she's on the deck of a ship or riding on a cloud or whatever she fancies. And I want her to know she can be or do anything she sets her heart on."

I could faintly hear him talking to Annie in her room and decided I had been lying around for long enough.

I got up carefully and slowly walked down the corridor, still feeling a little weak in the knees, holding on to the doorframe of Annie's room for a moment before I went over and joined the two of them by the window.

Mick drew me closer with one arm, Annie safely ensconced in the other. She opened her eyes and looked right at me for a moment, as if to make sure I was really there, smacked her lips and went back to sleep.

"Yes, Annie, your mommy's here", Mick told her quietly. "You're a lucky girl. You've got all you need. Your mom and your dad and a nice little home. And the sea, just over there."

A shaft of sunlight broke through the grey clouds and lit up both faces, chiseled sharp manly features and soft round baby cheeks.

A rush of sweet warm love for both of them flooded my heart and made my eyes grow misty.

I had never been able to relate much to the expression, thought myself way too rational for that, but now, for the first time in my life, I felt truly blessed.


End file.
